Fenris had seen much since his return from the Deep Roads. He had killed many people in the name of the mage they called Emily Hawke, but until that day, he had never once screamed at her. Over a glass of wine, he considered his actions in the Slave Dens.

What does magic touch that it doesn't spoil?

He had wilted her with that one sentence. Did she think he meant her? No, magic had not wilted her. Hawke was a magnificent creature, seemingly immune to all of the taint that had dragged other mages down. She stood again and again against the temptations of blood magic, spat in the faces of those that gave in, and she dealt swift justice to anyone who tried to use it on her. She stood beside him when he needed her most, and he had carved into her with such vicious words, loaded with the poison of accusation. She did not lash out at him in return. Hawke had let him go, and she had not sought him out since.

Even when he had lashed out at her, she had been so beautiful. Her skin was so pale compared to his own, the complexion of her face flawless. She had painted her lips that day, Maker only knows why, but the crimson color had drove him mad when she came to him and asked for his company to the Wounded Coast. He wanted to brush all of her void black hair out of her face, tussled and knotted from combat. Even in her appearance she was his opposite, yet he wanted nothing more than to know what it felt like to hold her, to kiss her.

He could never admit that to anyone. No one could know of how he spent his time alone, thinking of her. He dreamt of her touch as much as he feared it. He imagined the pleasures that might come with it, but he remembered the pain of the last time a mage had touched him. Hawke's hands were clean. She had never touched blood magic in her life. She could never hurt him like that.

When he approached her that night and lost control of his desire, Fenris had become aware of two things. First, Hawke's lips tasted like peaches. Secondly, her kisses would not hurt him. In fact, they had the opposite effect. Each time her lips shifted against his, a fragment of the pain and anger that had resurfaced since Hadriana's appearance slipped from his mind. Her body called out to him. He wanted to feel her closer still, to remove all barriers between them.

As Hawke held him against the wall and kissed him passionately, her hands rested against his chest, not daring to touch his bare skin. Fenris would have this change, and he let his hold of Hawke's backside go in order to remove his gauntlets. One by one, he tossed them to the floor of the entryway to her estate, all too eager to grip her rear with his bare hands. She let out a soft squeak as he did so, and it brought a smile to both of their faces. He found that he liked all of the sounds she made.

This seemed to be encouragement enough for her hands to leave their careful position. Hawke's arms wound around his neck as she lifted herself to his level, intent on continuing their dance. His tongue pressed against her lips, asking for the right of passage. She gave it to him gladly, and their tongue's tangled in a mess of a hasty, new union.

Fenris had never known a woman so intimately, and the levels of intimacy would continue to be pushed. The desire he felt surging to the surface pushed back all of the fear, and his aversion to touch quickly fell to the need to have more. Hawke seemed to sense this about him, and after a soft, delightful kiss, she took his hand in hers and stepped back from him.

"Come with me. We shouldn't do this here.."

Hawke lead him through the first hall of her home and up the stairs to her bedroom, leaving behind his gauntlets. Certainly they could be gathered in the morning, and at the moment, that was the least of their worries. Fenris' attention was focused on the lady mage's swaying hips as she walked in front of him. It seemed the finery she wore just before bed accentuated her curvature far more than the mage robes ever would. He could have walked behind her all day staring at her backside and spoke not a word of discontent.

As soon as Hawke shut the door, Fenris was upon her. It was his turn to press her against the wall, dominating her small, petite frame with his lithe form. His lips connected with hers once more, gentle and careful. Neither of them knew the limits of what was to pass between them that night. Fenris feared asking too much of her as well as himself. He was surprised as Hawke reached between them and untied the wraps of her finery and pulled the layers over her head to reveal the band around her breasts, the little scars from the battles she had fought, and her freckles.

As he looked at her, taking in the vision of beauty before him, he found himself focusing on the freckles most of all. He gathered her up and held her closer, dipping his head into the cradle of her neck and kissing the tender flesh there. She let out a delighted giggle, whispered his name in his ear, and grasped at his shoulders in an attempt to hold herself up. The heat of her breath, the sound of her voice as she said is name, it was all too much.

Fenris dropped Hawke back to the floor, his hands working to free himself from his armor. Once she realized his intentions, his companion joined him. It was not long before they had cast off the chest plate, the leather beneath it, and the skintight shirt Fenris wore to protect his chest from the rough texture of the leather. As soon as he was free, he stared at Emily Hawke, who in turn stared at him. Her eyes were focused on his markings, taking in the details. She reached out with hesitant hands to trace the lines down his sternum, and this caused the first flash of pain, the first memories.

Leto, come along! Help me with the laundry.

Hawke must not have noticed the vacant, distracted expression on his face as she kissed him and once more followed the lines of lyrium down his throat with gentle, butterfly kisses. Another flash. Another voice, this time his own.

I've won. I want them free.

He shook his head, trying to free himself from the voices that were not there and the sensations that did not come from Hawke's pleasing attentions. He scooped her up once more and pulled her close, using the wall as leverage to keep her feet off the floor and her face level with his own. In an instant, her legs were around his waist, the lady mage just as intent on staying level with him. His hands gripped her rear admiringly, sliding beneath the fabric of her small clothes to better feel the softness of her skin. She shivered in his arms as their bodies pressed together all too eager for the warmth of the other. For the moment, the pain vanished. The feeling of her skin against the tattoos caused nothing but delight and need. He would have her.

Fenris decided enough was enough, and without a second thought lifted Hawke away from the wall and carried her over to her bed. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms tight around his neck and did whatever she could to help him with the labor, but even as they tumbled downward, she realized it had been in vain. His arms had held fast and true to their purpose, Emily Hawke had not slipped an inch in his arms even as they lay upon her bed. Together, they had fallen on their sides. The lady mage had unhooked her legs from the elf's waist just in time, and there she snuggled close to him.

While Fenris managed to maintain his focus and sense, Hawke had lost all of her own. After a prolonged moment of heated kisses and hands exploring the bodies of their lovers, Hawke rolled Fenris onto his back and straddled him across his waist. He felt her press herself against his hard desire, a sensation entirely new and palpable. He drew a deep breath, and the mage above him grined widely as she removed the band around her chest.

Fenris believed that the Maker was indeed cruel to keep such a beautiful sight bound beneath such restrictive cloth. Where she might find flaws, Fenris found unique and lovely qualities. Her breasts fit in his hands as if they belonged there. He delighted in all of her small, natural markings. The mole between her breasts, the light brown, heart shaped birthmark upon her shoulder blade, the dustings of light freckles along her arms and legs, he loved them all. He imagined that she felt similarly as her hands explored his chest once more, following the patterns of his own markings. The thing he despised was the thing Hawke delighted in. The 'beauty' of them drew her in.

The gentle pads of her finger tips found every pattern and shape above his waist, for it seemed that neither of them was ready to make the leap. Fenris could hear voices calling at him from the back of his mind again, blurry flashes of wide open courtyards and young elves passing over the images of reality. He would not have this ruin his chance at happiness. Hawke was so close to him, so intent on being a careful and gentle lover to him. Things he had only dreamed of were coming true and unfolding before him as visions of his forgotten past lashed at him from the darkness. He would drown out the pain with more pleasure. He would fight the voices in his head with Hawke's delightful little squeals and giggles. The only darkness he would know existed in the lady mage's hair. Just once, he wanted to forget everything.

Fenris reached out with both hands, grasping the face of his lover and pulling her into a sensual and powerful kiss once more. Hawke took this as a sign from him, and her tender touched vanished from him briefly. She found the ties of his leggings, pulling the string as open for him as she could. Together, the two of them struggled to remove the last barrier Fenris had to hide behind. His small clothes went with the leggings as he kicked and pulled them away from him with his feet. He refused to let go of the woman on top of him, and she would have it no other way.

The sensation of her bare skin against his manhood quickly drove away the voices that screamed at echoed at him from the back of his head. An electric, pleasing spark shot through him and he knew that he had found paradise. For nearly three years, it had been within his grasp. Fenris gasped to himself and lingered still, savoring the warm body against his own. Hawke took this opportunity to remove the rest of her small clothes and straddle his hips properly. She did not press her desires further, only proceeded to lean forward and continue kissing the object of her affection.

Outside, a loud bump alerted them briefly to the world outside of the bedroom. Fenris was the first between them to jolt upright and stare toward Hawke's window, though his hands never left her body. She followed his gaze and held onto him in return as she remained sitting on top of him, waiting for any other noise that would tell them there was trouble. Nothing. Silence.

"What was that?" Fenris asked, his hands drifting still lower upon his lover's back.

"Does it matter?"

Her response to his question was clear. No interruptions. They had come this far, why not seal the deal?

"Hawke? Are you home?" Isabela called out as she stepped through the door.

Normally, she didn't play matchmaker. However, with Anders following just behind her and a full tab waiting to be paid at the Hanged Man, she had no better options. He had told her that if she helped him 'win Hawke', then he would pay her tab. Simple enough, or so she thought.

"Those are Fenris' gauntlets. Why are they laying out on the floor here?" Anders stepped around the pirate, taking note of what the elf had discarded.

"Hate to say it, Anders.. But I think you're a little late."

A loud, but not unpleasant female yelp echoed out from Hawke's room. It was enough to confirm Isabela's assumption.

"We see neither hide nor hair of the animal for three days, and the first thing he does is crawl into Hawke's bed? What is this?" Anders said.

Isabela feared her tab might not be paid for as she went further into the home of their leader. All else was clean. Hawke's house shoes had never left their place by her staircase, where she tended to keep them if it was not too cold in the house. Behind her, Anders seethed and mumbled to himself about his failure. Before her, just up the stairs, the sounds of lovemaking began to echo louder, Hawke's voice joined by Fenris' own.

She winced to herself as she neared Hawke's desk, her eyes drawn to the letter on top.

Dearest Emily Hawke,

After closely examining your accounts, I have found several suitable ventures occurring in and near Kirkwall that may serve to expand your holdings. Well on your way to becoming a noble in the city, it may be of the greatest interest to yourself and parties concerned that we meet once more to discuss what I have found over a fine dinner. You may find me at any time of the day for the next week at the Gilded Terrace in Hightown. I'm eager to speak with you again.

Sincerely,

Silas Aurelius

"We should go."

"Oh Maker… Fenris!"

Hawke was a vocal lover, and there could be no doubt in that as Fenris overtook her. He grabbed onto her tightly and rolled with her, pressing her onto her back so that he might be in control. She made no argument, her pleased and desperate cries enough to state that she rather liked the thought. The elf cradled her close with one arm and attempted to hold himself up with another.

He knew there had to be some kind of technique to this, but as soon as the nerves and fears had broken away their union became a hasty and instinctual coupling. Fenris pressed into her with everything he had, Hawke's cries for more egging him on. They blotted out each other's cries and moans with unthinking kisses, only occasionally hitting their targets. Hawke's legs wound themselves around her lover's waist, eager to welcome him deeper into her body. Fenris could ask for nothing more.

How long had they dreamed of this moment? Fenris knew of his attraction to the mage when jealousy reared its ugly head when he was first introduced to Anders. The way they had greeted each other sickened him, made him want to step between them and safeguard Hawke from the abomination. Slowly, he noticed her begin to invite him with her more often. And then the Deep Roads Expedition occurred where he worked himself to the bone protecting her from the dangers that tried to encroach upon her.

His infatuation and protection of her had been natural, for all of his memorable life he had protected a magister, yet here was this mage who regarded him as a free man, as someone worth her time. Now, he was worth her love, worth invitation to her most sacred of places. Fenris was worthy of her, of a place in her bed and her heart. All of this she gave without asking anything of him he had not offered first.

In many ways, she was his opposite. Where his skin was dark, she was fair. Where her hair was black, his was white. Where his body had been viciously marred by unnatural processes, hers remained untouched and made beautiful by her own natural markings. He needed her for it. His life would never be complete without this other half.

And yet as he neared his peak with her, a pleasure he had never experienced building up and tensing his whole body, he could already feel uncertainty. Would he be strong enough to get through the visions, the voices, when they inevitably came again? Hawke's every touch had awoken these things inside of him until her velvet walls enveloped him. He wanted to tell himself he could handle anything to touch her like this every night, to explore the beauty beneath him. These thoughts distracted him long enough for him to carry Hawke to her own peak, and he followed just behind her.

He could hear their voices echo through the room, moans and cries and hushed mantras consisting only of the other's name. As his thrusts came to a halt, he dropped himself against her and kissed her once more. His weight must have been crushing, the intensity of the kiss exhausting her breath, but she made no argument. Her arms wound tight around him, and she moaned to him through the kiss.

It very well may have been the last chance he would ever have to kiss her, for his thoughts bounced around and told him of how he feared this as much as he desired it. Fenris had never been allowed to be happy. Very few slaves were ever allowed to keep their loved ones, their families, close to them. As he allowed Hawke escape from his crushing weight, enveloping her and pulling her backside tight against him, he showered her with affection. He kissed her shoulders, kept her hair away from her face, allowed his hands to wander her body.

Both of them were too tired to mind the mess made by their coupling. Hawke welcomed his embrace and together they recovered in silence until the lady fell asleep in his arms, safe and secure. Fenris could not find sleep. All of the voices and visions he had overpowered in their lovemaking came surging forth anew, teasing him with things that may or may never have happened.

It all felt so familiar, the voices he wanted to call mother, sister, father. Every vision he wanted to place an age to: five, eight, and thirteen. He knew he was twenty-five now, basic age-keeping all that the slaves were often allowed to know.

He didn't know his birthday, and he remembered how this had upset the woman in his arms. She had been so thoughtful, intent on celebrating for him as she celebrated for everyone else. So instead, she celebrated his 'birthday' on the anniversary of the day they met. Fitting really, for he had never felt as alive as he did on that day since the time he spent with the Fog Warriors. Everyone received a gift from her on their birthday, and on his she had given him the Book of Shartan. Many nights before this one, she had been close at hand teaching him how to read. Would it all fall apart if he let this visions get the best of him? He prayed not, for the longer he lay in silence, the more certain he became that the fear of what would attack this happiness would overcome the good that could come from it. He could not stay.